


By the Oath River.

by Craftnarok



Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M, Porn, literally just really wordy porn, post 3x10 battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 02:44:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6593503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Craftnarok/pseuds/Craftnarok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of their victory against Governor Rogers' forces, Silver suspects he knows the best way to bring Flint down from the bloodlust of the battle, and he could do with some release himself, so he sets about giving them both what they need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By the Oath River.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh lord. Alright you dirty bastards, here you go. Try this on for size. 7000-odd words of what is basically just filth. Filth with feelings, at least. I’ve dropped all pretence. Hopefully it still works. I feel like I’ve forgotten anything I ever knew about grammar at this point, so apologies for the scattershot punctuation. 
> 
> Have at it.

As they stood on opposite sides of the river following the battle, it was as if they were seeing each other for the first time; _truly_ seeing each other. Silver’s plan had worked and Mr Dobbs had done as he’d asked, as he’d known he would, and Flint now knew the true extent of his influence and saw Silver for what he had become, not what he had been all those long months ago. But likewise, as Flint stood victorious and commanding, painted in other men’s blood and streaked with dirt and sweat, he looked to be a god of war, unkillable and ferocious, and Silver saw that plainly too. They both perceived each other, stripped bare at last; they saw what they could build and destroy together, and it was dizzying and heady and they could want nothing but more.  

Silver had spoken of the power inherent in being both liked and feared, but he knew full well that Flint did not fear him, and that what they shared was as yet the most tentative of friendships, despite the way he had seen Flint look at him, and despite the way he had looked back. As such it was with some trepidation that he climbed into a boat to cross the water, needing to see the fallout for himself, needing to understand the scale of what they had done. It also seemed clear that Flint, pacing between corpses on the far bank like a beast uncaged, was best kept on the other side of the water for now, rather than brought back and corralled within the Maroon village while his blood was still up. This wild man would burn the whole world for his lost loves, if he thought it was just and right, and while he was still alight with his righteous rage it would not do well to set him down in the wrong place; a dangerous spark within a tinderbox. So Silver went to him, a prickle of fear crawling up his spine, but knowing what he had to do to tamp the embers down.

As he stepped out of the boat, steadying himself with a hand on the bow, he looked around for Flint, who had disappeared into the trees while Silver had made his way across. Somehow it was more frightening now to not see him, but to know that he was somewhere nearby, close and armed and quite probably still blood-drunk. Silver shivered, feeling as though he was being stalked, surrounded by the soothing sounds of the forest and the distant murmur of voices but with the burning sensation of a hunter’s eyes on the back of his neck. Turning, he spotted Flint through the trees, some 30 yards away, watching him, with his sheathed sword in hand.

Around Flint there was a bustle of activity as their fighters gathered up the dead and wounded, the ground littered with bodies in red coats, but he stood stock still in the midst of it, an island amongst a restless sea of men. He looked as though he had been waiting for Silver to come and find him, but if this plan was to continue as Silver intended it to then he knew he must make Flint come to him. Maintaining eye-contact with him, Silver stood his ground, advancing no further than where he stood on the shoreline. He was too far away to see Flint’s facial expression clearly, but he could imagine the minute tensions which would creep over his features at this challenge. His brow would crease above his nose, his eyes might narrow just a little, and if he was wound up enough then there might even be a twitch in his top lip.

Silver stood for what felt like an age, watching, waiting, pushing just as far as he knew he must, before he began to move forwards. He gestured to the trees on his left with the merest flick of his head, and then he turned and walked away, and he knew without having to watch that Flint would follow. He was sure that Flint understood what Silver was offering, recognised what had been building between them, and he knew that Flint both wanted and needed it; as did he himself. So Silver lead the way, and he was as Orpheus leading Eurydice from the land of the dead back to life, but he knew better than to look over his shoulder.

Deep into the trees he walked, keeping the river on his left side and willing his pulse to remain slow and steady. With every twig that cracked behind him his tension grew, the hairs on his arms standing up, and his breathing growing heavier. To have a blood-soaked and vengeful god on one’s heels was a frightening business, even when one was on good terms with him, but he must hold his nerve and stay the course. Eventually, after some ten minutes of traipsing in silence through the wild, he came to the small clearing he had been searching for. They had passed it on the way to the place where the chest was buried, but it had looked very different in the dark, and Silver was secretly quite relieved that he had been correct in his recollection of how to find it. The trees were dense around them here and the ground was soft with moss and leaves, and somewhere off to his left he could hear the river rushing by. It was the perfect spot; quiet, secluded, and neutral territory.  

Crossing to the other side of the clearing, Silver finally allowed himself to turn on his heel and look back. Flint was stood across from him, on the treeline, the canopy above casting his face in swathes of deep shadow, but his eyes shone bright and calculating. He looked ravenous and imposing and it sent a thrill through Silver’s body. He allowed a small smile to creep onto his face, and then he inclined his head gently again, inviting Flint to move closer. There was a moment where Silver thought he would refuse, would simply fix his feet in place where he stood and deny him this victory, but then Flint was moving towards him, fist tight on his scabbard, and his heart quickened and he had to will himself not to press his back into the tree behind him at the quiver of fear that set his nerves buzzing beneath his skin. He knew that Flint would not hurt him, even in this state, and he was confident in the power he now possessed, but he also knew that he was playing with fire by dallying with this man, and the little flickers of instinctual dread it ignited within him were exhilarating.

Flint came to a halt before him, less than an arm’s length away, and Silver regarded him closely for the first time since they had parted company that morning. He was spattered with dirt and blood, only some of which was his own, and the hollow of his throat was slick with reddened sweat. His breathing was calm, but somehow his chest still seemed to heave with it, and he looked massive in the scant few inches he had on Silver in both width and height. This was what he did, Silver thought; it was how he built his name and bent the world to his will. He stood as nothing more than a mortal man, but he cloaked himself in a glamour of mythos that made him appear a seething monster to people’s eyes. And even knowing the power of a story, even having weaved some of this myth with his own words, Silver could not quite unsee what they had made. He wondered what Flint saw when he looked back at him.

“Are you hurt?” Silver said, and though he spoke quietly his voice seemed to ring out in the silence of the clearing. He hoped its din would not break the spell that lay over them; a chime to wake Flint from this dream.

“No,” came the simple reply, and Flint reached out between them, skimming his fingertips down Silver’s side, his eyes falling to watch their progress. The touch was barely there, a brush of his shirt that only hinted at pressure on his skin, but it told Silver everything he needed to know about the truth of his assumptions. They both needed this, and they both wanted it.

“I killed him,” Flint murmured, his thumb brushing along Silver’s belt, and he looked up again to meet his eyes.

“Who?” Silver replied, his voice the lowest of rumbles. “I imagine you killed a lot of men today. Who had a name worth remembering?”  

“Hornigold,” Flint answered. “I shot him, and then I stood over him and I watched him die, and I felt no remorse for it. He was mine to kill, as his quartermaster was yours. It felt like a consummation.”

Silver swallowed, before he reached out and hooked a finger behind Flint’s belt, pulling gently, both asking and commanding. Flint allowed himself to be tugged closer, his own hand slipping from Silver’s belt and lifting to the side of his face. Silver knew there was a cut on his cheekbone where a piece of flying debris had struck him a glancing blow and Flint ran his fingers across it lightly. The blood was already dry but Silver could feel a bruise beginning to blossom around it and he winced at the touch.

Flint’s fingers moved across his face to touch the smaller cuts which graced the side of his nose, his eyebrow, the corner of his mouth, and his lips twitched in a small smile.

“How are you more cut up than I am when you were so far behind the line?” he said.

Silver smiled back, feeling it pull on his broken skin. “It’s a talent of mine,” he replied, “Rather like you seem to have a talent for staring death in the face and walking away unscathed.”

“Physically unscathed, at least,” Flint murmured.

“Yes, physically,” Silver agreed, and at that he curled the finger that remained hooked in Flint’s belt and pulled him closer still, so that their toes were touching and he could feel his breath on his face. “Which is why I thought, perhaps…something to settle you? To settle both of us. I don’t know about you, but it feels as though my blood is on fire.”

Flint’s head inclined in a small nod as he watched Silver’s mouth while he spoke, and rather than replying he simply leaned forwards and captured Silver’s lips in a kiss, dropping his sword to the ground. His mouth was hot and his skin tasted of sweat and blood and gunpowder, but Silver had never tasted anything he wanted more. He wrapped his arms around Flint’s shoulders, pulling some of the weight up and off his left leg and drawing Flint flush against him at the same time. Flint took his weight and pushed him back against the tree behind him, the rough bark digging into the muscles of his back with a pressure which was just on the right side of painful. Flint’s lips were rough against his and he could feel the cut at the corner of his mouth pulling taut, and as Flint bit his lip there was a sting and the coppery taste of blood grew stronger as the wound split open anew. But it only made him want harder, made him need more.  

He poured everything into the kiss that he couldn’t put into words, everything that was better left unsaid. His silver tongue was good for more than one thing. He spoke with this kiss of his months of longing for Flint’s touch, and his rage at the future that had been carved out for him with the swing of an axe, and the insatiable hunger he felt in the face of his new-found power. All of those things which had come to him since that fateful day when Captain Flint had set upon his ship; all of those things that he had not known he had wanted, that he needed, that he had been happy without, and which he now could no longer forgo. And he imagined in the tight vice of Flint’s grip his answer; an insincere apology for having awoken in him someone who could be his equal, his kin, who might be his anchor in this storm. He felt Flint lick the blood from his lips, sucking at the red iron tang, and he could only think that Flint had already taken so much of him that he might as well have his lifeblood too.

His coat felt suddenly stifling. Unclasping his hands from the back of Flint's neck, Silver shucked it off his shoulders, and Flint pushed the sleeves down his arms, letting it pool on the floor. Once his hands were free again, Silver hitched Flint's shirt up out of his waistband, sliding his hands underneath and digging his fingers hard into Flint's sides. His skin was damp and hot, and Silver longed to get his mouth on it, to lick the salt from his skin and bite bruises into his flesh. He felt a simmering savagery boiling up inside himself, the frustration of a fight half fought. How he wished he could have stood at Flint's side and unleashed his violence on their enemy, while he watched Flint do the same. There was nobody who could stand in their way when they stood together. They were unmatched in their power and the darkest corners of Silver's soul wanted to make the whole world recognise it and tremble at their feet. Flint might fight for vengeance, for love, but Silver fought because his Captain had needed him to, and because he had never felt such bone-deep satisfaction as he had found in making men fear him, John Silver, quartermaster and right hand of the dread Captain Flint.

  
Flint seemed to vibrate under his fingers, his own hands painfully tight on Silver's hips, and he wondered just how long it was since Flint had truly been taken apart and put back together by another person's touch. There was a desperation in the way he clung to Silver, an urgency in the way he pulled him close and sucked and bit and licked his mouth, that spoke of a man too long starved of touch. Silver was more than happy to oblige him and, removing his hands from their place raking down Flint's sides, he tugged his own shirt free and pulled it up towards his head. Flint broke their kiss, taking his own shirt in his hands and removing it, while Silver threw his to the floor to join his coat.

  
Silver's chest was heaving as he leant back into the tree, the bark scratching hard against his bare skin, and he put his hands out to rest on Flint's stomach. Holding him at arm's length, he looked him over. Flint's skin was covered in freckles, but on his forearms and his face and neck they were almost lost between flecks of earth and blood. His skin was lighter where his shirt had been, less tanned and free of gore, but even here there was dirt, contouring the soft lines of his muscles where sweat had collected it in streaks. A trail of pink ran down his chest from the hollow of his throat, where the perspiration had trickled down his body in rivulets, collecting blood on its way, sticking the soft orange hairs to his skin. He looked like the first of men, all warm reds and browns and oranges, sculpted from clay and brought to life; a work of the gods, fearsome and favoured, not a mortal creature as other men were.  

Silver reached up and splayed his fingers against Flint’s face, sliding his thumb across his temple, the slick of blood there smearing under his touch. This was Flint’s own blood, born of a cut on the side of his head, the only mark he seemed to bear from the fight, and Silver couldn't help but bring his thumb back to his own mouth to taste it, wondering if the ichor of Mars would taste different to his own. Flint gripped his jaw tightly in one hand and his breath hitched as he watched Silver's tongue rasp along the pad of his thumb, licking the blood clean off it, before wrapping his lips around it and sucking, smiling wickedly. Reaching out to grip Flint's neck with his other hand he drew him back towards him, and removing his wet thumb from between his lips he pushed it between Flint's. Flint groaned, sucking it in, and slid his hands down and around to the back of Silver's thighs, lifting him clean off the ground and wrapping his legs around his waist. Silver could feel Flint's tongue on the pad of his thumb, while teeth grazed just below the second knuckle, and the hot suck of it made him cant his hips forward desperately. There were so many sensations at once: Flint’s mouth wrapped around his thumb, the press of their damp skin together where their torsos touched, the sharp scratch of the tree at his back, the feeling of Flint's solid waist between his thighs along with the fingers that held him fast there, and the press of Flint’s hard cock against his own through their trousers. It was almost too much and he moaned loudly, his mouth falling open. He knew how he sounded, how he looked, wanton and whorish, but he could not bring himself to care, and from the way Flint pushed up harder against him he didn’t imagine he minded either.

Pulling his thumb from Flint’s mouth once more, Silver wrapped his arm around his shoulder, his hand coming to rest on the back of his head. There was a prickle of short hairs under his fingers, and he rubbed his fingertips hard into Flint’s scalp, pulling at the stubble and drawing him back into another heated kiss. He was sure that the skin pulled tight across his shoulder blades would be rubbed raw from the rough bark at his back by the time they were through, but he wanted it to be that way. He wanted to be marked by this, to feel it for days, to be reminded every waking moment of what they had shared.

Flint was biting at his lips again, pulling him impossibly close, and Silver thought there was the whisper of a keening note of want in his breathing that he was holding back. Silver wanted to hear it, to have it, to own it. He groaned, pulling away from Flint’s mouth and grinding his hips forward. “Captain. Tell me what you want. Please, tell me. I’ll give you anything you need. Everything.”

Flint’s forehead dropped to the crook of his neck and he panted into the skin there, rocking up against Silver, one hand releasing a thigh and coming up to drag hard down his side, fingernails sharp and wonderfully harsh against his over-sensitive skin. “Just touch me,” he breathed, his voice hoarse and broken. “God, please, just keep touching me. _And call me James_.”

Silver’s arms tightened reflexively around Flint’s shoulders and he leaned down to press a sloppy kiss to his neck. “ _Yes._ _James._ When did someone last touch you like this? How long has it been?” he whispered into his ear.

Flint lifted a hand to his hair, twisting the thick curls at the nape of his neck through his fingers into his fist and tugging on them, pulling his head to the side so that his throat stretched out long and lithe beneath his mouth. “Too long. It’s been far too long,” he said, and then he sucked the skin into his mouth and sank his teeth into the muscle beneath.

Had he the capacity in that moment to think it, Silver would have been glad that he chose to do this far away from the camp, from the ship, from anyone who might hear them, because the noise he let out was loud and lewd and unquestionably driven from him by something obscene. But if this was what rude obscenity felt like then Silver hoped he might never again find himself fettered by the sort of polite company who would abhor it or call it wrong.

“Christ, I wish you still had your hair,” Silver moaned, his fingers scratching helplessly against Flint’s scalp as he continued to suck and bite at the skin of his neck, bruising a mark into it. He longed to twist that dark auburn hair between his fingers and pull it taut until Flint groaned with it. In his mind’s eye he saw himself kneeling behind him, deep inside him, pulling on that hair until Flint’s back arched and his fingers curled and he called out _‘John’_ as though nothing else existed in the world.

Unlatching his good leg from its place around Flint’s waist, Silver set his foot on the floor again, his thigh shaking, and pushed against Flint’s shoulders with his hands, trying to disengage him for just long enough to fight free of the last of their clothing. Flint almost growled into his flesh, sucking hard once more, before he let go and moved back just a few inches, releasing his hold on Silver’s other thigh and his hand slipping from his hair. His eyes looked bright and wild and his grip shifted downwards, clutching tight to Silver’s sides, his thumbs pressing into the hard muscle of his stomach just above his trousers, stroking down his skin as far as the belt would let him.

“I need you to be naked,” Silver panted, sliding his hands down Flint’s slick stomach to hook into his waistband. “Right fucking now. Otherwise I’m going to come before we’ve even started.”

And Flint just smiled that fucking smile that had heat pooling low in Silver’s belly, and his cock twitching, and a broken moan escaping his lips.

_"Take your goddamn clothes off,”_ Silver said desperately, moving his fingers to start working at undoing Flint’s belt, letting it fall to the floor and then sending his own to join it.

Together they made quick work of removing the last pieces of fabric that separated them, Silver leaning hard on Flint’s arm to maintain his balance as he kicked his one boot off. He left his iron leg strapped on for now; he hadn’t yet decided how he planned to have Flint, and he wouldn’t be much use lopsided and burdensome if he needed to be on his feet.

When they both stood naked before one another, Flint reached up and pulled one long curl through his fingers, his eyes drinking in the sight of Silver’s body. He seemed almost diffident all of a sudden, looking at Silver as though he couldn’t quite believe his eyes, that this was happening, that he was allowed to touch the skin in front of him. Silver took hold of the hand that was hanging at his side and lifted it, pressing it flat low against his belly in encouragement, reaching up with his other hand to pull his hair free of its tie, suspecting that Flint would want it loose. He was rewarded when Flint’s hand immediately sank into the curls, threading them between his fingers, pulling them over his shoulder and tucking them behind his ear, unbearably tender.

Finally Flint stepped closer again, his nails scratching lightly against Silver’s stomach before moving up to cup his face, and he pressed the full length of their bodies together. Silver’s breath stuttered and he wrapped his arms low around Flint’s back, pulling him against him more tightly, and he leant forwards to kiss him again. He was soft about it at first, coaxing Flint back towards the heightened state he had been in just moments ago, but then kissing harder, deeper, sliding his hands up Flint’s back, down his sides, around to squeeze his arse. All the while Flint kept one hand tangled in his hair and one laid against his face, his thumb tracing the line of his bruised cheekbone.

“Tell me what you want, James,” He murmured, when he had Flint once again panting into his mouth, pressing his hips up against him. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I want-” Flint whispered, breaking off his reply with a guttural sound.

“Tell me,” Silver said, pressing quick kisses to his lips, his cheek, his jaw.

“I want you in my mouth,” Flint replied finally, quietly. “It’s been…such a long time. I want to remember what it feels like. I want to taste you.”

Silver pulled away slightly so that he could look into Flint’s eyes. When Flint looked back, he smiled and nodded, brushing their foreheads together and reaching up to stroke his hands down Flint’s face and neck. “ _Yes,_ ” was all he said.

It was all the encouragement Flint needed, and he seemed to fold suddenly, dropping to his knees, his hands coming to rest on Silver’s hips. Silver reached down to lean his hands on Flint’s shoulders, both to support himself, vaguely aware that his leg was beginning to protest against his current position, and to offer a soothing touch. He leant back into the tree behind him and drew in a steadying breath as Flint inclined his head forwards and nuzzled at his groin. He pushed his nose into the hairs at the base, breathing him in, and then placed an open mouthed, wet kiss on the underside of his cock. Silver’s hands skidded up to frame Flint’s face, his fingers stroking over his skin in quick stuttering slides. He already felt so far gone and they’d barely even begun. His plan had been to undo Flint, not the other way around. He let his head thud back into the hard wood, hoping the jolt would clear his senses somewhat, but in the same moment Flint wrapped his lips around him and all thoughts of holding back fled.

“ _Jesus, James_ ,” he breathed, as Flint sucked him deep into his mouth. It was so hot, and so wet, and the suck of his cheeks and his tongue became everything; there was nothing else in the world at this moment other than Flint’s mouth on him, and the hands digging finger-shaped bruises into his hips where he held him steady. The pain of his tight grip was grounding and perfect, and it only made Silver want something rougher. To be held and owned and fucked until he was a boneless wreck and the simmering urge within him to fight and to dominate had been extinguished. But next time; and there would be a next time. This time he knew he had to take Flint apart in just the same way.  

As he felt himself creeping close to the point of no return, he dropped his hands back to Flint’s shoulders and pushed him away. “James,” he whispered, “wait. Stop.”

Flint pulled back just enough that Silver’s cock slid free of his mouth, but the tip still lay against his lips and he licked it obscenely while staring up at him, pulling it between his lips for one final soft suck that was almost a kiss.

Silver huffed out a breath that was somewhere between a laugh, a sob, and a moan, pushing harder against Flint’s shoulders to try to find enough space to string together the words he needed.

“I can’t-I won’t be able to hold on if you keep that up for much longer,” he groaned, “and I want to fuck you. Please. Will you let me fuck you?”

Flint’s eyes were heavy lidded and black, but somehow they seemed to darken further at Silver’s words. He nodded with a heavy sigh, a release of some hidden tension, leaning forwards to kiss and lick at Silver’s hip, laving his tongue over the red marks left by his fingers. Softly, pressed against his skin, Silver heard the small “ _yes”_ that was all the answer he needed.

Pushing on his shoulders once more, Silver moved Flint away until he rocked back onto his heels, looking up at him, waiting. He held the tree in one hand to keep his balance as he reached down to pick up his coat and he fished around in the pockets until he found the small jar of oil he had brought with him. Silver would never have called himself an optimist, not anymore, but there was no way he was going to find himself out here in need of oil and lacking it, and so he had come prepared.   

“Where did you get that from?” Flint asked, sounding far too amused and well-composed for Silver’s liking.

“Does it matter?” he said, his voice ruined and husky, raising an eyebrow and looking back at Flint.

“I suppose not,” Flint replied, smiling.

“Here,” Silver said, handing Flint his coat. “Spread that on the ground to lie on, unless you want to find twigs poking you in awkward places.”

Flint did as he was bidden, spreading the coat and lying back against it, leaning up on his elbows. Raking his eyes down his body in open appraisal, Silver smiled and licked his lips, and then he kneeled down between his legs, crawling to lean over him, the jar still gripped tight in one hand. Flint looked gorgeous beneath him, still filthy and bloody and with a renewed sheen of sweat across his skin, but so open and inviting, more relaxed than he had ever seen him. He simply lay there, waiting for Silver to do as he wished.

“My god you’re stunning,” Silver breathed, resting his forehead against Flint’s briefly, before he kissed him again, messy and slow.  “But you are far too coherent right now. I’ll need to do something about that.”

Flint sighed against his mouth, and his lips twitched into a smile.

“And I will have you talking for me,” Silver added, catching his eye.

Flint’s smile grew more mischievous and his eyes seemed to flash with something that looked like a challenge, but he said nothing more.

Silver placed a hand flat against Flint’s chest and pushed, sending him down to lie flat on his back. Flint’s hands once again moved up to tangle in his hair, stroking and tugging and sweeping it out of his face. Leaning down, Silver finally got his mouth properly onto Flint’s skin and it was exactly as good as he’d thought it would be. He trailed open mouthed kisses along his collarbones, down his chest, across his nipples, sucking on clusters of freckles that caught his eye. Flint tasted like salt and gunmetal, earthy and warm, and the fine ochre hairs which dusted his skin were soft against Silver’s lips. Dragging a hand up Flint’s thigh he hitched it up until it was wrapped around his waist, pressing them together while he worshipped Flint’s skin with his mouth. He heard Flint’s breath hitch as Silver’s stomach trapped his cock between them, and he rocked down, sliding his sweat-damp skin over the hard length of it to try to elicit another reaction. He smiled into the hollow of Flint’s throat when he heard a soft moan, and he had to break away to look up at his face. He rocked again, one long undulating slide of skin, and he drank in his expression, his stomach jolting pleasantly as Flint’s eyes opened and fixed intently on his.   

Holding his gaze, Silver moved the jar of oil still gripped tight in his palm onto Flint’s chest and, leaning heavily on his elbows, he opened it. He poured a measure into his palm, a little spilling over onto Flint’s already wet skin, and he coated his fingers before shuffling further down his body, mouth touching skin all the way. As he felt Flint’s cock brushing against his chest he bit into the flesh of his stomach, sucking hard on it and trying to work a bruise into it. He was rewarded with a groan considerably louder than anything he’d achieved yet, and he took it as a sign that he was heading in the right direction. Swiping his tongue over the bright red mark blossoming on Flint’s belly, soothing the heat of it, he reached up with his slicked hand and wrapped his fingers firmly around the base of Flint’s cock. The hands in his hair balled into fists, the tug of them making his scalp prickle, and though the pain of it sent a shiver running through him he felt compelled to reach up with his free hand and drag his nails hard down Flint’s chest; just a little something to even the score. Flint’s cock jerked in his grip at the scratch of his nails and he ran his hand loosely up and down the full length of it before he leant down and sucked it into his mouth.

Flint groaned loudly again and his back arched high off the coat at the sensation, and Silver wondered again just how long it was since he had had something like this. A partner who truly wanted him, all of him, who knew and understood him, and who wanted nothing more than to see him undone and unburdened in their hands. It hardly mattered, he supposed; he had it now.  

Silver took his time in working Flint up, relishing every moment of it, every judder and moan he coaxed from him, changing the pace every now and then so that while Flint writhed and keened beneath him he never quite found the release he was growing more and more desperate for. Silver sucked harder and then softer, licking long wet stripes up his full length and feather-soft touches across the tip, his slick hand taking what his mouth could not reach. Letting go with his fingers, he trailed them down between Flint’s legs, stroking along the creases at the top of his thighs, moving close to where Flint wanted him, but never quite touching. He knew it was bordering on cruel, but he was waiting for Flint to break, to work past his silence and beg for what he wanted. Finally, as his finger skimmed just barely across where Flint truly needed it, he got what he was waiting for.

“ _Fuck. Please,”_ Flint ground out.

“Please, what?” Silver asked innocently, releasing Flint’s cock from his mouth and looking up.

Flint groaned in frustration, tipping his head back, his hands twisting in Silver’s hair again.

Silver licked him. “Tell me what you want and you can have it,” he said, his unoiled hand tracing along Flint’s hipbone.

“You’re a fucking tease,” Flint huffed.

Silver laughed warmly. “Yes I am. Honestly, James, sometimes I feel as though you don’t know me at all,” he said, and he bit Flint hard on the thigh.

“ _Fuck. Jesus,”_ Flint groaned.

“Not quite. ‘John’ will do just fine,” Silver quipped. It was a tired joke, but he couldn’t resist it when Flint was already so deliciously frustrated with him. Feeling merciful, however, he kissed the spot he had bitten. “Say it, James,” he said softly.

“ _John,_ ” Flint replied, and with a final huffed sigh he relented. “Please, John. Fuck me. I want you to fuck me.”

Silver grinned, kissing the rapidly reddening bite mark again, and finally he gave Flint what he wanted. He sank one thick finger into him, agonisingly slowly but all the way to the knuckle in one long press. Flint groaned underneath him, one hand twisting in the fabric of Silver’s coat, the other still gripping his hair tightly. As Silver began working his finger in and out, he pulled himself up higher against Flint, wrapping his free hand around the back of his neck and drawing him into a kiss. 

“God, I don’t think you have any idea how fucking good you look,” Silver murmured into Flint’s mouth. “The things it does to me.”

Flint said nothing in reply, but he reached down and wrapped a hand around Silver’s wrist, trying to push him deeper. Silver bit his lip for his silent impatience, but he started to work a second finger into him, slowly, stretching and twisting.

“Is this what you want?” he said as he twisted his fingers, kissing along Flint’s jaw, feeling the rasp of his beard on his lips. Here especially he tasted like salt and blood.

“Yes,” Flint whispered, letting go of his wrist and sliding his hand back into Silver’s hair to drag him into another messy kiss.

Silver pushed a third finger in alongside the other two, knowing that the stretch of it would start to burn, but he imagined that that was exactly what Flint wanted. The guttural moan that broke from Flint’s throat confirmed it and he sucked on the skin just below his Adam’s apple as Flint’s head tipped back and his neck arched. Flint’s fingers were carding through his hair, pulling and stroking in turns. Silver reached up with his free hand to disentangle one of Flint’s, and once it was loose he moved it down and wrapped Flint’s fingers around his own cock, encouraging him to stroke himself.

“ _John_ ,” Flint groaned, “Please. I’m ready.”

Silver spread his fingers within Flint, gauging his tightness. “Are you sure? You’re still so tight. It’ll hurt.” He said.

Flint looked into his eyes, expression desperate and wanting. “Good,” was all he said in reply.

Silver sighed, kissing Flint once more, before he slipped his fingers free and reached for the still open jar sitting in the moss by his coat. As he slicked himself up and moved back between Flint’s thighs, he caught his eye again.

“Yes?” he said.

“Yes,” Flint replied, reaching up to tuck Silver’s hair behind his ears and lifting his legs to wrap around his waist.

Silver didn’t need to ask again. Slowly, smoothly, he pushed in. Flint’s hands gripped onto his arms, his fingers digging hard into the muscle, but he did not say stop. Silver groaned at the tight heat, bending down to lay his forehead against Flint’s collarbone as he slid deeper, until finally their bodies were flush.

_“Fuck, James,"_ he groaned as Flint tensed his thighs, drawing him closer still and holding him fast.

Flint’s hands moved back to his hair, a place he was more than happy for them to permanently occupy from now on, and he tugged on it, encouraging Silver to lift his head again. Doing as he was bidden, Silver found Flint searching out his gaze, studying every detail of his face, before he was pulled into another kiss. He felt the grip of Flint’s thighs loosen slightly, and he took it as a sign to start moving. He gave an experimental rock of his hips and Flint moaned into his mouth. Pulling out further, Silver set up a smooth rhythm of thrusts, leaning hard on his elbows so that he could reach up with his hands to stroke Flint’s face as he kissed him, brushing his cheekbones, his jaw, his beard.

“Touch yourself, James,” he whispered. “I want to see you come. I want to feel it.”

Flint moaned brokenly into his mouth, and one of his hands left his hair and he slipped it into the small space between them, wrapping it around himself and starting to stroke. Silver could feel the backs of his knuckles dragging up and down his belly as his hand pumped, and it was almost enough to undo him right there. He slowed his thrusts, trying to hold back just a little longer, but as Flint’s pants and gasps grew louder and he felt his hand speed up, he heard him speak.

“ _Please, John. Don’t hold back. Harder._ ” He said.

And so Silver gave him what he wanted, picking up the pace of his thrusts and sliding one hand under Flint’s arse to tilt his hips just so, so that he might better connect with that spot inside him that would see him tipped over the edge. Flint’s moans grew louder, his breathing heavier, and the hand in Silver’s hair stroked desperately over his scalp in time with the strokes of the hand on his cock. Finally, as Silver’s thrusts started to become more erratic and he felt himself nearing the edge, he felt Flint tighten around him as he spilled between them with a loud cry. Dragging Flint into one more kiss that had the edges of his vision darkening for want of breath, Silver reached his own climax, his hips stuttering and his fingers curling into the coat beneath them.    

Silver could feel the beads of sweat rolling down his back as he lay panting on top of Flint, the heat radiating off them both, and for a long moment he couldn’t muster the energy to move. Finally, when the heat of their embrace became too much, he slid free and collapsed onto his back next to him, turning his head to study Flint’s face. Flint was panting, glistening with sweat, and mixed in with the flecks of blood and dirt on his chest, along with the four long red scratches curtesy of Silver’s nails, there were now streaks of white painted across his skin. Silver reached out, tracing his finger through it, lifting it to his mouth and tasting it. Flint’s eyes burned bright as he watched him, stunned. Silver couldn’t help but laugh. It was as though the last of the tension of the past few months was draining out of him and once he started he found it difficult to stop, gasping and hiccupping with mirth. Flint watched him with amused eyes, before breaking into a wide smile and snorting at his absurdity.

“You are a madman.” Flint said when Silver’s laughter had subsided to quiet huffing.

Silver laughed again and raised his eyebrows. “That sounds rather a lot like the pot calling the kettle black, Captain.” He said, reaching out between them with his fingers to clasp Flint’s hand.

For a several long minutes they lay quietly catching their breath, fingers linked, watching wispy white clouds pass overhead and listening to the rush of the river nearby. When the sweat began to cool on Silver’s skin and he started to feel itchy and unclean he squeezed Flint’s fingers and sat up.

“A wash in the river?” he asked.

Flint nodded, sitting up gingerly and pushing himself to his feet, offering Silver a hand up. The leather straps of the false leg had begun to chafe, moisture and grit having worked their way under them, and Silver grimaced as he stood. Flint said nothing, but he stayed on Silver’s left side offering him support as they made their way through the trees down to the water. 

When they reached the river’s edge, Silver sat down on the shore and unbuckled the straps on his leg, sliding his stump free and massaging the sore skin with his thumbs. Flint stood watching him for a moment and then offered his hand again, pulling Silver up and wrapping an arm about his waist. Silver laid his arm across Flint’s broad shoulders and accepted his help into the water. It wasn’t deep, only reaching up just above their knees in the middle of the river, and so Silver slipped his hand down Flint’s arm, levering himself downwards to kneel on the soft riverbed. The water was cool and refreshing as it swelled around him, and he cupped it in his hands, drinking from it, rubbing the dirt and sweat from his skin, and dipping his head below the surface to rinse his face and rub his fingers through his hair. Flint washed beside him, his pale, freckled skin slowly unveiled from beneath its coating of grime, and as Silver began working his fingers through the knots in his hair Flint knelt behind him and drew him back against his chest, his arms around his waist.

Silver turned his head, drawing Flint into a kiss, and somehow it was more intimate than anything that had preceded it. It was an acknowledgement that what had passed between them was more than a simple fuck to sweat out the fever of the battle and to release the tension that they had both been holding for so long. It was so common for seafaring men to fuck, for any number of reasons, but this was something gentle and soft, underscored with real care, and Silver wondered that Flint allowed it. Truly, how far they had both come.

“We ought to head back. They’ll be wondering where we’ve got to,” Flint murmured into the skin beneath his ear, as Silver turned back to working the tangles of his hair loose.

“Yes,” he replied. “The downside of starting a war, I suppose. It does leave one with rather an alarming number of responsibilities. For what it’s worth, I’d far rather stay here.”

Flint kissed his neck, and the brush of his beard made Silver shiver.

“We can come back,” he said, mouthing at Silver’s skin. “Leave everyone behind and come back, just the two of us; find that same clearing and wash in this same stretch of river. Again and again.”

“You’re so sentimental,” Silver said gently. “Yes, we can come back. Although, how does the saying go? ‘ _No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man’._ Heraclitus, I think.” He turned his head again to find Flint staring at him.

“Heraclitus?” Flint said incredulously, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Where the fuck did you learn about Heraclitus?”

Silver grinned. “Oh, I’m just brimming full of mysteries and surprises, James. These waters run deep,” he said, a playful note in his voice, and he nipped at Flint’s lips. “Keep plumbing them and there’s no telling what you might find.”

“Is that a challenge?” Flint said, raising an eyebrow.

Silver smiled again, and replied simply, “It is if you want it to be, and I very much hope that you do.”


End file.
